Chapter 37

 

Ocean City, New Jersey, 1982

 

The Connors’ compound lay at the high end of the island bordered by the bay and sufficiently segregated from the noisy tourist area of Ocean City, New Jersey. The main house was a mammoth two-story structure that sported a gaming court in the rear. It was surrounded by well-tended gardens enclosing a playground for the family’s pampered young. Several private guest cottages were scattered informally with their open patios facing the bay. On one of these, Ann Ryan relaxed in the pleasant summer sunlight, waiting the appropriate hour to join the Connors’ at dinner.

She looked down at the bay where several boats were docked. A group of teenage boys lugged water skies ashore as they exchanged banter with a cluster of girls. Radiant in their colorful beachwear, the girls were striking tantalizing poses at the end of the private pier. This view of Catherine Connors’ adolescent daughter and her companions brought memories to Ann Ryan.

Hanging on the fringes of the older girls was William Connors’ eight-year-old daughter. Kathleen and her entourage ignored the child. As she continued to watch the innocent flirting between the young people on the pier, Ann suddenly saw herself in that shy little girl.

How easily John and Catherine’s daughter transferred into Shelia Connors. Kathleen possessed that same thick mane of gorgeous blonde hair that capped her Aunt Shelia’s head, and looked to be graced with the same skin. Never a single pimple had dared to erupt on the flawless complexion of their ruling princess.

Lovely in their own rights, Catherine Anderson and Andrea Nelson had been Shelia’s ‘ladies-in-waiting’. The remainder of the girls in the group flocked about the three leaders senselessly mimicking their every move. Ann remembered with a slight bitterness she was the tag-a-long they occasionally noticed; too old to enjoy playing with the younger children; too young to be accepted by the older youngsters; and always feeling out of place.

Ann had been a child when Michael O’Neill invaded their paradise. She remembered now how things changed with his arrival. Almost from the start, the boys competed for Michael’s friendship. John Connors, who’d always been the masculine leader in their crowd, deferred constantly to Michael’s decisions. John’s once ordered, “We’re going to do this,” switched to, “what do you think about this, Mike?”

James Beechen, with the sexy English accent and those luscious golden curls, sniffed after Michael like a trained hound obeying his every command as if in mortal fear of the Irish youth. What the girls once referred to as James’ enchanting accent and delightful manners, Michael soon had the crowd calling, James’ girly ways.

Bradley Fitzgerald, cousin to the Connors’, had been the only boy who opposed their new leader. Fresh from his knob year at the military academy, he didn’t feel inclined to ‘hup to’ for this interloper. The sophomore cadet had bragged, “I’m a survivor—had my ass roasted by experts.” Still, it had only taken the one violent encounter, with Michael beating Bradley so viciously he vomited, to put him permanently in his subordinate place.

Too young at the time, Ann hadn’t realize the situation was flaming into snarling sexual competition among the boys while the teasing girls stoked the fires.

There had never been a question, even back then, that one day Catherine Anderson would be Mrs. John Connors. It was as if their families signed a contract at the birth of their firstborn offspring. Of course, the exotic Andrea Nelson bewitched all the young males and easily drew John’s attention to aggravate Catherine. Then for some reason, perhaps the macho smell of a cadet, Andrea sunk her claws into Bradley; so by the end of the second week of that summer, they were thought a twosome.

Then came Michael.

James Beechen had worshiped the beautiful Shelia Connors since the first time John brought him home several summers back. But it was Shelia, Michael wanted. When Michael nonchalantly made his choice known, James didn’t so much as gripe only stepped aside. It was Shelia, still satisfied with hand-holding and cuddling, who found ‘the Brute’ too aggressive and stopped him cold. So Michael moved in on Andrea, or so Shelia said, because Andrea did ‘dirty things’ with Michael that she wouldn’t.

That was how many years and how much heartbreak ago…Ann felt the warm tinge of tears sting the corner of her eyes and quickly blinked them away. She had lost her enjoyment of the delightful scene of the young teens on the pier.

She spotted Shelia coming from the back of the main house.

She crept like a fugitive. Her head turned up and down and side to side as if hunting a way out. Her tall frame was held in a forward runner’s stance though she picked her steps carefully.

Ann felt the urge to slink away. She preferred the loudmouth alcoholic to this timid creature the drugs had created.

“Annie, such a lovely evening, do you mind if I join you?” Shelia carefully lowered herself into the companion lounge. She said the correct words but the sameness in the tone of each one made Ann want to scream.

Snap out of it girl, she thought, can’t you see what they’re doing to you? She only said, “Shelia, certainly, how nice.”

Shelia didn’t actually look at her—didn’t focus on anything. Her eyes, shattered marbles from which the color and light escaped, were expressionless like the frozen features of her face. “Little Annie Rooney came back.” She mumbled as if not actually talking to anyone. “At thirty three, divorced, and free…free…what was Annie’s Englishman like? Andrea said he was old and stuffy and safe. Catherine described him as well bred.” She giggled. Then she sniffled as if on the verge of weeping and unable to do so. “Why didn’t you let me come to the wedding? I would have behaved. You were my little sis…no…never…I must not say that. I never had a sister.”

Ann wanted to take the pathetic woman in her arms, hug the fragile creature she’d become, but she was afraid to. “Shell, I invited you. Don’t you remember you were ill at the time and James didn’t think it wise for you to travel.”

“James!” She showed a spark of life. “That piece of shit!” Then the dullness returned and she seemed to be conversing with herself. “He’s still my husband. Unlike Annie, I can’t rid myself of him. He and Daddy struck a deal, you know. James got the worst of it but I’m better than a coffin.” She began to laugh hysterically her long fingers slapping at her temples made Ann leap up.

“Shell!” She started to reach for her but Shelia spun off the lounge and landed on her knees. The dead stare in her eyes halted Ann.

“Don’t touch me!!” She got up and stumbled back the way she’d come. Ann could see Shelia’s mother had stepped outside and was waiting for her.

She watched the older woman gather her daughter close and lead her away.

Ann let out the air she discovered trapped in her throat. In her mind, she formed the excuses the Connors’ would make because Shelia wouldn’t be joining them for dinner. Catherine, she decided, must keep a record book so she didn’t over-use the same excuse.

A silver-gray Continental pulled into the parking area. It caught Ann’s attention. The driver stepped out. Ann automatically lifted her arm in a wave then dropped it and nervously finger-combed her hair. Look at that—he went right inside without glancing her way. Damn that Catherine. Why hadn’t she warned her? The ivory jumpsuit made her look stubby. She could have worn…Stop it! Back up. You’re kidding yourself. Michael’s not here to see you. He hadn’t so much as called her since her divorce. Her sudden marriage hadn’t mattered to him so why should her divorce. Andrea couldn’t have put it better when she teased her, that his daughter didn’t need a nanny anymore. Ann paused to glance at her reflection in the glass of the patio door. She hadn’t gained a pound—why did she look fat? It was the cut and color of the one-piece suit. She bought it a weak moment when she felt horribly skinny. Well, it was too late to change; she might as well make the grand entrance.

A narrow bridge formed the walkway to the deck that nearly dropped off into the lustrous satin sheen of the turquoise waters of the bay. Lined along the edges with flowerpots and Venetian-style lampposts, the bridge gave an olde-world charm to the back gardens. The lazy bay breezes caressed Ann’s skin as she stepped lightly over the wooden planks to the glass doors that spanned the rear walls of the two-storied residence.

There was no fawning butler to usher guests into the informal dining room. Though everything the Connors’ owned advertised wealth, each area of their lives was set for the perfect scene. The family friendly summer home boasted a staff of casually dressed young people who blended into rather than stood apart from the residents and guests. The young man, who slid the door open, wore a tank top, shorts, and sandals. The smile he sported would have been followed with an, “Ann.” Only it was interrupted by Michael O’Neill who stepped past him to hug her. “Annie! Kate just told me you were here. I was on my way to fetch you. You look great.”

“Michael, what a nice surprise.” She did her best to pretend it was. ‘Kate’ only Michael dared call Catherine Connors ‘Kate’, stood clutching her husband John’s arm and wearing a ‘cat that caught the canary’ grin.

“This should be a pleasant evening now.” John Connors’ flawless smile always gave Ann a feeling he was hiding something unpleasant. “Mike was disappointed to find he missed Shelia and James’ departure by only a few minutes.” So that was it. They were going to pretend Shelia wasn’t there.

“Ann will do nicely as a dinner companion,” Michael said. His lips lightly brushed her hair as he squeezed her arm. “You have to fill me in on what you’ve been up to. When did you get back to the States?”

Who was he kidding…he’d known she was home. Damn him! This was all lip service. Ann considered pulling her arm away. Thought about just turning and walking back down the path—no—running. Jumping into her car… then she had her anger in check. She couldn’t make a fool of herself. “Been home a few weeks.” She forced a smile. Inside she felt the heat continuing to rise as she glanced up into his face and quickly dropped her eyes.

Desiring to make the Connors’ squirm, she said, “I saw Shelia a little while ago. She didn’t mention leaving.” But her words fell flat overshadowed by the information John was relating.

“Things are really coming together, Mike. The latest polls are giving me a safe majority…”

Michael’s interest in the missing Beechens took second place to John’s campaign speech. Ann had learned years ago how to tune out the nonsense. If the need for financial gain was lacking, the desire for power drove wealthy men into politics. She had to give John Connors’ credit though he did sound like he believed only he alone could protect and better the life of his constituents. His Republican opponent was an antagonist out to destroy the fabric of American society. Michael’s responses might have convinced someone else that he believed Connors. Ann knew different. Michael enjoyed the games but despised the players.

Well, at least he didn’t completely ignore her. He seated her at the table and claimed the chair next to her. The attention he awarded her brought to mind those pleasant times, in the past, when Michael O’Neill decided Ann Ryan could be of some value to him. Why did she continue to love him? Even in Jeffery’s arms, she had fantasized she was with Michael. How sad. No wonder her marriage had been so short lived.